


Will You Still Hate Me Tomorrow?

by NeoVenus22



Category: Torchwood
Genre: F/M, Porn Battle, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-23
Updated: 2009-12-23
Packaged: 2017-10-05 01:29:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/36299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeoVenus22/pseuds/NeoVenus22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Owen gets an urgent phone call from Gwen, but her reasons for calling aren't quite what he expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Will You Still Hate Me Tomorrow?

It's roughly three in the morning when Owen's phone rings, he's hungover and tired as shit, and has been doing this job so long he just naturally assumes it's a rift-related crisis and the hotel Gwen's at has been taken over by jellyfish-men or something.

Everything seems normal when he goes to the front desk, and the night clerk, bored, gives Owen the room number. He remembers this hotel, although not the clerk, which is just as well. It's a bit run-down, not high-class but not seedy, equidistant from both their flats and nowhere near the Hub. They used to come here, when they used to fuck.

The hallway's empty and three-thirty still when Owen gets off the lift, he finds her door and reaches for the gun hidden at the small of his back when he notes the door is ajar. "Gwennie, is everything all right..?" he asks, forcing cheer for the benefit of anyone listening in and wondering if there's backup coming. Her message only said 'urgent.'

"Not exactly," he hears her voice, and he comes around the corner into the room to find Gwen lying across the top of the bed in nothing but a pair of very tiny panties. Owen's second response is a cross between bemusement and anger. His first response, he's ashamed to admit, is a lurch of his cock.

"What the hell is going on?" he demands, taking a few steps back to shut the door (anyone could have come in), and part of him knows he should just leave.

"Rhys proposed," she explains, sitting up, not that it helps, because her breasts are still bouncing, and he suddenly remembers every single thing he's ever done to those breasts.

"Congratulations." That really does not explain why he's here, however. (Short answer: he is here because he is an idiot.)

"I said yes."

"Bloody fantastic, do you have a point?"

"I'm scared out of my mind."

"You should be," he says. "Marriage is shit and it's not worth your time. Not to mention that Rhys of yours is a lump."

"That's not a terribly nice thing to say," she says, not that he really hears her over the rush of blood in his ears because she is practically naked and on a bed and he forgot how much he liked her thighs, white and a little bit plump, perfect for wrapping around his waist.

"Gwennie, I'm beginning to think you didn't call me here so I could say nice things."

"Maybe not."

Owen realizes he's still holding his gun and tucks it back where he got it. It pulls at his waistband, which in turn makes his pants tighten at the front, against his cock. Gwen notices this, too, her eyes fluttering to his pants and then back to his face, paired with the tiniest of smirks, like she somehow owns him now.

"One last go?" she says. "For old times' sake?"

"Why?" he asks snidely. "Couldn't get hold of Jack?" Gwen's face falls. "I'm not going to be your bachelorette fuck."

"Owen, you and I..."

"Oh, shut up." He's not in the mood for whatever she has to say. It's something else entirely, some raging beast inside him that hates being woken up at three and having to cart himself across the whole of Cardiff so Gwen Cooper can say she sowed her wild oats before she settles down to marry some cheese salesman or whatever it is her idiot boyfriend does, that propels him across the room and onto the bed to mash his lips to hers in a kiss that burns fire down his chest.

From there, it's unfortunately easy for him to palm her breasts, for her to shuck his jacket and drag her nails over the bulge of his jeans, for them to be naked and him to be inside her once more. Gwen's moaning into the pillow, her back arched and her arse smooth in his hands as he fucks her. This is better than he remembered (than he let himself forget) and he hisses as he drives deep.

This changes nothing, he knows. He doesn't love her, doesn't even much like her half the time, and if this evening is any indication, she thinks of him as nothing more than an entertaining fuck. As she's going down on him later, he wonders if she does this with the boyfriend (the fiancé). Owen tries not to be in the habit of comparing himself to other men, but he figures that's exactly what she wants from him, to be utterly different from Rhys. And he knows he is. Because when she eventually passes out, sheets knotted around her thighs and knickers balled on the floor, Owen walks out and he doesn't look back.


End file.
